Beyond the Barricade
by CroweBird98
Summary: Enjolras had always been a strong leader, man, friend. But what happens when his world crumbles around him? E/E. Enjolras' pov.


**Hi people. Okay, soooo this is my first fanfic. I had no interest in editing this because I wanted my first piece published to jsut be raw material...plus I didn't feel like doing it :p. Anywhosen, I hope you like what I have here. Review as you please. Me no own.**

* * *

It is when he falls from the top of the barricade is when he believes he's met his death. He is proven wrong just moments later. His ears are filled with the cries of his companions, their words unclear. The slight opening in his eyes show the clear blue against the bloodied marble of his face. Courfeyrac ushers him into a sitting position, leaning him against a slightly splintered chair. His clouded mind begins to clear, the shouting voices becoming louder and more prominent.

"Enjolras!"

"Somebody get Joly!"

"They're falling back"

The voices disappear when his shoulder throbs with pain. He looks over to see Joly shakily prodding his skin, his red jacket on the ground and off of his back. His pale eyes scan the scene amongst the cafe to search for only one thing. A single person. Eponine.

He cannot find her. The beaten hat and rags that clothe her are not visible to his half lidded eyes. He listens for her voice, and his bloodied ears do not allow it to pass through his brain. He falls into darkness.

* * *

Two hours later, the night has fallen. Enjolras wakes with a groan of pain, the sling around his arm doing a poor job of keeping his injured shoulder still. He forces himself to sit up from the wooden floor and leans against the wall. Enjolras looks and finds himself on the top floor of the cafe, which temporarily serves as their makeshift hospital. For a moment, there is silence. No gunshots echo through the streets, no shouts of anguish are heard. Only for a moment. What follows after is even more beautiful than the silence he has been granted. He hears her voice.

"Enjolras..", she says nearly whispering. Her face is finally visible, and he can see her lips matching her words.

"You'll be alright. You'd better be after all you've put your friends through."

He smiles at this. The way that Eponine goes about things is anything but subtle. She proceeds to tell him of her distress; the way she pestered Joly to allow her into his room for an hour only to be let in moments ago. She tells him of the losses they encountered. Feuilly and Jean. Two too many. He asks her to let him sleep and she does.

* * *

The smog of the clouds and smoke overtake any sun that is shining. Enjolras is hastily progressing down the creaking stairs of the cafe to rejoin the men in the occurring battle. His intentions are disregarded as the revolutionaries are informed loudly of the first shot that fell upon the day. A crowd is encircling the victim, Courfeyrac meeting Enjolras' eyes with his own tearing ones. His brow furrows and his breath quickens. He shoves his way through the men, his shoulder being jostled harshly. When his vision catches the face of the fallen soldier, his facade falls with his heart.

Now able to reach her, Enjolras throws himself to Eponine, Marius holding her corpse. He takes her gently from him, crying her name with a broken voice. He feels a hand on his back to which he recoiled from harshly. Enjolras shakes her body, attempting to somehow restore the light that is meant to be in her eyes, the enthusiasm in her voice. The hand that previously rested on his backside is now on his shoulder, another across his torso. He is being yanked away from his love, his body lurching forward in an attempt to grab a hold of her again. He is turned sharply to be faced with Grantaire, who looks pitifully in his eyes. Enjolras clutches his torso, his face turned to Eponine as she is carried away into the building that was once lively and gay. A place once dedicated to the plans of a new world has become a morgue.

* * *

Despite the doubts of his comrades, Enjolras continues to fight on with his friends. He continues to lead them through their battle numbly, hardly present regardless of the sounds and sights surrounding him. It is not long before they must switch to a defensive style of fighting, as they slowly and painfully shrink in numbers. He finds himself amongst three dead men at his feet. His men. His friends. They are on the upper level of the cafe, just feet away from where they are keeping Eponine. He takes one step, looks down at the three faces, and marches on.

With a flag in his hand, Enjolras finds himself against the frame of a window, now smashed through and splintered. The opposing soldiers stand with their guns pointed at his face. An unnecessarily large number of them prepared to see him die. Grantaire emerges from the staircase across the way.

"Do you permit it?". Does he permit his friend to die by his side? Does he permit him to be a source of comfort and love that Eponine once was? Yes. He does. For if he doesn't, his friend will die a painful and lonely death soon after his. Much like he would have if Grantaire did not appear.

Enjolras is dead before he makes his way fully out the window.

* * *

He finds himself lying on the ground below him, running his hand along the cobblestone street, his eyes still closed. A hard object causes him to stop, and open his eyes. He looks to his right. A large wall of furniture lay amongst him, Les Amis De L'ABC line the top of the barricade, their flags raised, gentle smiles on their faces. He looks to his left, blue orbs climbing the length of a woman, following her skirt up to meet her face.

He sees her.

* * *

"_To love another person is to see the face of God..."_


End file.
